


Nick Carraway's Guide to Falling in Love

by classysassygay



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Old Sport (The Great Gatsby), Period-Typical Homophobia, but I love the GG way too much to not write for it, i don't really know where this is going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-08-19 15:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20212120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/classysassygay/pseuds/classysassygay
Summary: What if Daisy never showed up to tea with Nick and Gatsby? How would Gatsby cope with this? Would he finally see what was in front of him the whole time?This is a Nick/Gatsby getting together fic. Starts around the third chapter of the book.It's not great but I mean if you're looking for Great Gatsby fan fiction you're probably pretty desperate at this point (No shame I am too).





	1. Step One: Get Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> Hi bros ;) idk what to do with my life so here have some gay Nick being awkward.
> 
> First time writing basically anything. Feel free to roast me if u want.

Nick had never been to a real party before Gatsby’s invitation came. Sure, the little get together Tom had dragged him to so he could show off his mistress could be considered a party by some, but that had been nothing compared to the booming celebrations that raged on every weekend at Gatsby’s.

Nick had often wondered what exactly went on in that spectacular castle next door, but he hadn’t the courage to investigate. Being from the south, Nick didn’t know the proper New York etiquette. Could you show up at a neighbour’s party uninvited? Perhaps, but he didn’t need to worry about that anymore as the invitation weighed heavy in his hand.

What did his strange neighbour want from him? Nick had often seen his silhouette in the window, or a glimpse of his figure on the dock, but Nick had never spoken with him, he wasn’t even sure what he looked like.

Nick fiddled with the invitation, accidentally folding the edges in the process. He wasn’t stupid. If Gatsby wanted to meet him, as the note suggested, why not do it when Nick first moved in One could claim he was allowing Nick to settle in, but Nick has been settled for weeks now and this had been the first communication.

So, it was something else. Nick could hardly guess at the reason for the unanticipated invitation, but he would not snub the man’s attempts at being neighbourly, if that was the case. As a benefit, Nick had not relaxed since he arrived in New York, and this party wold give him the excuse he needed to blow off studying and work.

Nick looked up and smiled at the servant who had brought the letter. “Tell Mr. Gatsby that I would be delighted to attend. What time shall I arrive?” he asked since there was no time on the invitation.

“You may arrive at your leisure,” the man answered monotonously.

“Oh. Well, thank you… for this,” Nick said awkwardly in reference to the invention. The servant nodded and left quickly after that, leaving Nick bewildered on his porch step.

_________________________________

Arriving at Gatsby’s party, Nick first noticed the sheer amount of people there as they waited to filter into the castle like house. There were easily more people there than Nick had ever met in his life. Gatsby couldn’t possibly know all of these people, could he?

After being pushed through the front hall by the sea of overeager party-goers, Nick arrived in the main hall and was absolutely breathless.

Lights glittered like stars on the ceiling, but the room was still dim. A grand bar, with half a dozen servants attending to it, lined the farthest wall and was fully stocked with a variety of bootlegged alcohol. Next to the bar there was a stage were a live band was playing Jazz for the guests to dance to. Expensive paintings lined the walls and in the centre of the room hung a grand chandelier. Larger even then the one hanging in Daisy and Tom’s house in East Egg.

It was truly the grandest thing Nick had ever beheld in his lift, and Gatsby threw these parties every __week__. Nick would have enjoyed the party if it weren’t for the thousands of people also enjoying it.

Nick considered himself quiet by nature, preferring to watch others live their lives. For him, other people’s stories were the most fascinating thing, as there is not better dramatist than life itself. So, for someone who relishes in enjoying the small details of life, being thrown into an extravagant soiree was overwhelming.

Nick searched the crowd to find a familiar face that he could latch onto and maybe get some enjoyment out of this party, but he found no one. Had he really been that isolated that he knew not one face out of the hundreds there?

Nick frowned to himself. Coming to this party had been a mistake, and Nick had yet to even met the mystery man himself. He was tempted to just pick up and leave but his western-raised manners refused to let him leave without thanking his host first, not that Nick would know where to find him. Since Nick knew no one here, he retreated to the bar. If he stayed there long enough maybe his host would show, almost everyone at the party hand drink in their hand.

“Drink, Sir?” the bartender asked quickly when he approached.

“Oh, no. Actually, I don’t drink anymore,” Nick said, thinking back to Tom’s get together and the morning after. “Sorry,” he finished lamely, as if he needed to apologize for staying sober, and his face flushed with embarrassment. The bartenders didn’t seem to notice Nick’s embarrassment however, and he to attended to other guests without another word.

“Wait!” Nick said suddenly, “Do you know where I can find Mr. Jay Gatsby? He invited me to attend.”

“No, sir. I’ve never met Mr. Gatsby,” the man said impatiently as he filled glasses with ice.

Nick gawked at him but quickly recover, as to not be rude, “Well, thank you anyway, sir.” Nick sighed in defeat and resigned himself to spend the rest of the night at the bar. If this ‘Jay Gatsby’ wanted to meet him so bad he could find him himself.

Minutes later, there was a loud crash and laughter following soon after. Nick startled and looked over his shoulder to see a piano lying, broken at the base of the grand stair case and giggling, drunk women lying carelessly and uninjured on and around it. Nick frowned and turned back to the bar. How could anyone, especially a guest, be so careless with their host’s things? This party was turning out to be a long and wretched affair.

Nick flagged the bartender, “Good sir, may I take that drink now?” and thus the bartender handed Nick the first of many drinks that night.

______________________

Later, several drink later, Nick was having a wonderful time. Probably the best time in his life. There were no parties like this in the mid-west, not that he would have been invited had there been.

He was about to brave the packed dance floor he had somehow managed to cross to get another drink when slender but calloused hands grabbed him by the arm, saving him from a certainly disastrous task.

“Nick!” a woman’s voice shouted beside him, but Nick barely heard her over the music.

“Yes?” he turned, perhaps a little less elegantly than he would have sober. He was meet with familiar grey eyes and autumn leaf hair. “Miss Baker!’ he greeted pleasantly after recognizing her.

“I remembered that you live near here.”

Nick nodded, “Yes, just next door. Do you come to these parties often?” he asked, trying to make pleasant small talk, still eyeing bar across the room.

“Only when the Buchanans get dull or there is a lull in gossip,” she said slyly and smirked at Nick, “Do you?”

“No, tonight is my first,” he pulled out his invitation in a modest brag. It became clear to Nick early in the night that he had been the only one __ever__ to be invited to Gatsby’s. He was a little ashamed of the thrill that ran through him, “I was invited.”

“You were?” Jordan gasps and grabs the invitation, “Why Mr. Carraway what have you been doing to catch Gatsby’s eye?” she turned her mischievous smirk and cutting eyes on him. Nick had never felt so exposed.

“Nothing!” he yelped in defense, but Jordan didn't even try to look convinced.

“Well, Nick it seems I’ll just have to keep you by my side until you tell me your secrets!” she giggled and linked their arms. Nick felt as though she was only half joking.

_______________________

Nick spent the rest of the evening by Miss Baker’s side. Through the night he drank more and listened to other’s gossip about their mysterious host. One claimed he was a German spy or a relative of the Kaiser. He was also both a war hero and a bootlegger. Nick didn’t know how there were so many rumours about just one man. Could he really be that much of a mystery? Either way, Nick found himself becoming more and more intrigued by Mr. Gatsby.

“I don’t think he even exists,” a brunette tantalized, “Where could one man get this much money?”

Jordan scoffs at her, “Of course he’s real. I’ve met him.” Nick gapes at her. She could have mentioned that hours ago when Nick was still looking for the man.

“Why didn’t you mention that before?” Nick accused, the alcohol making him bold and short.

“You never asked,” she replied simply, “Why would you like an introduction?”

“Of course. I would like to thank him for his hospitably,” Nick explained like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Apparently, it was not as the others in their circle laughed openly at him, though they offered no explanation why. Only Jordan didn’t laugh, only looked at him fondly.

Nick scowled. Their blatant rudeness was agitating to him, and his intoxication was only increasing this irritation to an intolerable level. Why should they feel entitled to Gatsby’s house and party? It was like each one of them thought their elusive host was throwing the party specially for them and that gave them the right to act however they wanted. Nick excused himself as politely as possible. He would not let these people’s horrid manners rub off on him.

He was headed across the dance floor, determined to make it to the bar for another drink even though he was already more unsteady then he cared to admit, when the stray arm of a dancer came out of now where and came close to striking him. Nick avoided the arm easily, though in doing so he leaned forward too much, and his unsteady feet slid out from under him.

Instinctively, Nick flailed his arms forward to catch himself, but this had the opposite effect and he found himself falling forward into a man standing innocently in front of him. Nick expected to pull the man to the ground with him but was surprised when he felt the sturdy arms catch him and steady his feet.

Once he was surefooted, Nick pulled away, embarrassed and muttering a string of apologies, refusing to meet his savior’s eyes out of sheer humiliation.

The man laughed off his apologizes, “No harm done, old sport.” It was then when Nick finally looked up. He was met with the most charming and sincere smile he had seen in his life. His heart clenched and his cheeks flared. The heart fluttering in his chest stilled and in that very moment, Nick felt more cared for than he had ever in his entire life.

Nick must have been staring because the smile turned to a confused frown, and the royal blue of the man’s eyes searched Nick’s face in concern, possibly trying to determine how drunk he was. “Uh…” Nick tried to say something, just to not be rude, but only succeeded in looking like an idiot. He turned his head away from the handsome stranger to blush once more. At least he could blame the blush on the alcohol.

“Are you alright?” the stranger asked with genuine concern. It was hard to believe that someone could be sincere in this crowd... it was comforting. Nick felt compelled to quell this man’s fears and composed himself.

“Oh, yes. I’m quite well. Thank you,” Nick assured, “In fact I was just going to go home and rest. Though, I must find our elusive host first.”

The man looked at him, confused, “What?”

It was Nick’s turn to be confused. Everyone knew Gatsby, “You know. Jay Gatsby, our host. He sent me an invitation and I haven’t yet met him. I was just looking for him.” He still looked at Nick blankly.

“I’m Gatsby,” he said suddenly.

Nick blanched, “What!” his mind reeled, trying to remember if he had said anything terribly rude, “Oh, I beg your pardon.”

He smiled understandingly. It was that same smile that made Nick’s heart seize, “I’m sorry, old sport, I though you knew.” Nick smiled sheepishly and tried to hide his embarrassment.

At that moment, Gatsby’s butler – the same one that delivered Nick his invitation – appeared by Gatsby’s side and told him Chicago was on the line. Gatsby thanked him and gestured for Nick to walk with him.

“What do you say, old sport, to joining me on my hydroplane tomorrow?”

“I would be delighted,” Nick responded weakly. Spending a day alone with the handsome man beside him could be the best or worst day of Nick’s life, “What time?”

“Whatever time suits you.”

“Nine o’clock?” Nick suggested, hoping that he would be over his hangover by then.

They stopped in front of the hallway leading to the exit, “Nine o’clock,” Gatsby agrees then smiles his charming smile and nods to him in goodbye, “’till tomorrow.”

Nick just nodded, feeling like he was in a daze, as Gatsby departed. Nick watched him weave through the crowd with ease and a warmth spread through his chest. Why did it feel like that was the single most important meeting Nick would ever have? Gatsby, though richer that god, was the most earnest and forthright person he had met in New York thus far. How had the power of wealth not corrupted him? Questions whirled through his mind and a newfound sense of curiosity blossomed within him.

“I see you met the mysterious Mr. Gatsby,” a voice said by his side suddenly. Jordan smiled and held Nick’s arm.

“He’s not what I expected,” Nick said wistfully staring where Gatsby was just standing. Jordan grinned down at him with a knowing and somehow dreamy look.

“They never are, are they?” She sighed.

Nick was about to ask her what she meant by that, when Gatsby’s butler appeared by his side once more and requested to speak with Jordan. Jordan went after a moment hesitation, the promise of gossip outweighing any possible harm that might come to her. She turned around to shout, “Go home, Nick. We’ll have tea sometime!” before disappearing into the crowd.

Nick did what she said, much too exhausted to stay up and wait for her. That night he slept fitfully, a symptom most likely caused by the alcohol and his anxiety over meet with Gatsby the next morning.


	2. Step 2: Boating

Nick was already awake as light streamed into his bedroom. Leaning over to his bedside clock he confirmed that it was just past seven in the morning and he still had two hours left until he was to meet Gatsby. 

Nick groaned and flopped back into bed as the memories of the previous night came flooding back. He couldn’t believe how much he had to drink. He couldn’t believe what a fool of himself he made in front of Gatsby. Nick rolled over and hid his face in his pillows. God, how was he to face the man so soon?

Just as Nick was deciding whether or not Gatsby’s friendship was worth the humiliation, his phone rang its shrill ring and his politeness forced him to go down stairs and answer, though it annoyed him to have a caller this early.

“Hello?” he said hoarsely, apparently the party had taken more out of him than he thought.

“Hello Nick! It’s Jordan,” Miss Baker cheered from over the phone, “Are you feeling alright?” she asked, though her tone indicated that she was just asking to tease him.

“Actually, Miss Baker, I feel fine.”

Nick could almost hear her pout from over the line, “How? You drank more than anyone last night!” she teasingly complained.

Nick smiled to himself, “It’s a secret.”

“Oh, Nick, so mysterious. I knew you’d be a good one to keep around.”

Nick laughed, “Speaking of mysterious, how was your visit with Mr. Gatsby?” he inquired nonchalantly.

Jordan gasped into the receiver, “Nick, it’s absolutely amazing, what he told me!” she said dreamily, “It all make sense now! Everything!”

“What did he say?” Nick was more curious about Gatsby than he’d been about anyone before, so if he had to stoop to gossip, he would.

“Oh, Nick, don’t tempt me! I promised I wouldn’t tell!” Nick frowned to himself but didn’t press her. He wasn't that desperate, and knowing Jordan, she would tell him sooner or later. Suddenly, Jordan exclaimed, “Look at the time! I have to go meet friends for breakfast! Call me, we’ll have tea this week.” Nick agreed and said a simple goodbye after jotting down her number.

Nick wandered into his parlor and looked at the clock over the mantle. It was quarter after seven now, so Nick went through his usual morning retinue with one exception. He had no idea what to wear. He’d never gone boating before. There just wasn’t water where he’d grown up, and with university and the war, he’d never got the chance. He was really going to embarrass himself, wasn’t he?  
As it neared eight thirty, Nick decided to keep it simple with loose collar shirt, a vest and suspenders. He was just buttoning his vest when he heard a honk from outside.

He looked through the window to see a great yellow car parked in his laneway, and inside was sitting none other than Jay Gatsby. Nick was surprised to see him, but quickly recovered and waved to him through the window, gesturing that he would only be a moment. On his way out he grabbed his boater hat. 

“Mr. Gatsby!” Nick greeted as he walked to the car.

“Good morning, old sport!” The man in question greeted as he hopped out of his car, “I though I would give you a ride, since we live so close.” He smiled and Nick could have swooned. He was charming, handsome, and a gentleman. He hadn’t even mentioned the real reason he offered Nick a ride was because the other man didn’t own a car.

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Nick thanked him politely.

“Of course. Like I said, it’s no problem,” Gatsby gestured to the car, “Shall we?” Nick nodded and got in the car.

“So,” Gatsby said after several minutes of driving, “How do you like the car? It’s a custom make.”

“It’s a beautiful car,” Nick said sincerely, “I must confess, I’ve seen it several times and it always catches my eye. Where was it made?” Nick inquired politely, yet he was still eager to learn anything about this man.

“A man in New York, though I don’t remember who,” Gatsby replied. Nick didn’t respond, though he wondered how one could forget the face of man he must have paid thousands to.  
___________________________  
“Have you ever been on a hydroplane, old sport?” Gatsby asked him as they stood on the dock together, looking out at his brand-new hydroplane. It looked sleek and fast, and expensive.

“I’ve never even been sailing before,” Nick admitted, “Well, at least not for pleasure,” he corrected, remembering the boat ride to the war with displeasure.

“Then that will make this all the more enjoyable,” Gatsby laughed and clap his shoulder. Nick smiled at the noise and was glad to be the cause. 

The hydroplane was four seats, which was quite big for a hydroplane and the size of the engine matched. Gatsby sat in the driver’s seat and Nick sat right next to him and waited in anticipation as he started the engine. 

Gatsby fiddled with a few nobs before slowly moving the boat out of the dock and into the open waters. He looked confident, but Nick remembered how this was his first time driving this hydroplane.

“You do know what you’re doing, right?” Nick asked out of anxiety before realizing that was rude, “Not that I’m doubting you!” he quickly amended.

“Don’t worry, old sport, it’s just like driving a car,” he reassured Nick. Nick gave him a weak smile before leaning back in his seat and attempting to relax, which he did after he was sure Gatsby had  
mastered the controls.

They puttered along the bay, occupied in idle conversation that was mostly about Nick. Nick felt flattered that Gatsby wanted to know so much about him but found it odd that he deflected almost all questions directed at himself. Like when Nick asked him if he had lived in West Egg long.

“Two years,” he answered quickly.

“What about before that?” Nick knew he was prying, but Gatsby had yet to refuse him outright.

“San Francisco.” Though it was a short answer, it sounded rehearsed, like he knew Nick might ask. “What about you, old sport? Where do you come from?” he asked before Nick could inquire anymore.

Nick was slightly disappointed that the topic was thrust off of the mysterious Gatsby and back on to him, but he allowed it, “Minnesota.”

“Why did you leave, if you don’t mine me asking?” 

“After the war I was restless, so I came to learn the bond business.” He didn’t mention that he was being financed by his father and that he was miserable at the bond business, and Gatsby didn’t ask.

“Do you have family here?” he asked. Nick was grateful that the conversation was shifting away from his finances.

“I have a distant cousin, though I know her husband better,” Nick glance over at Gatsby, who looked utterly fascinated by the conversation’s turn, which Nick thought was strange as his life was quite dull. He offered their names anyway, in case Gatsby knew them, which Nick doubted, “Daisy and Tom Buchanan.”

Nick watched Gatsby’s face as he said their names and saw it tighten then relax again. “I’ve never met them,” he lied. Nick tilted his head, why would Gatsby lie about something so trivial. “Are you close with them?” Nick wish the conversation would turn again but Gatsby seemed stuck on his relatives.

“No. Like I said, Daisy is a distant cousin, my second cousin in fact, but we were never close. Tom and I attended Yale together, though we had lost touch until I stayed with them for two days after the war.” Nick didn’t know why he was revealing so much about himself. He never did… but there was something about Gatsby that made Nick want to tell him everything.

After that the conversation drifted to the war, then to New York, but never about Gatsby. The whole day, Nick learned very few things about the man, even fewer that he actually believed were true.

“What do you say we see how fast we can go, old sport?” Gatsby asked mischievously during a lull in the conversation. Nick hesitated, he rather liked the lazy pace through the bay they had been holding steady at, but ultimately nodded his assent.

Gatsby grinned boyishly and steered them to a large strip of open water, far away from any other boats or buoys, “Ready?” He didn’t wait for an answer before shifting gears.

Suddenly they shot the water at top speed. Nick hoped he concealed the shriek that was building in his chest. What he could not control, was the reflex to grab on the nearest object, which in this case was Gatsby. When Nick realized that he was gripping the arm of a man he barely knew like a child would their mother’s skirts he flushed with embarrassment but couldn’t bring himself to let go.

Gatsby looked down at his arm and then up at Nick. Nick was terrified for a moment that Gatsby might be disgusted by his actions, but all Nick read on his face was amusement and utter delight. 

Gatsby slowed the boat until Nick felt it was safe to let go of him. Nick opened his mouth to apologize but was interrupted by a grinning Gatsby, “Ready to do it again?” he asked, lining the boat up, 

“You can hold onto me again, if you’re afraid,” he offered teasingly and without malice. 

Nick chest fluttered at his words but played along with mock indignation, “Me, afraid? I believe you are mistaken, good sir!”

Gatsby laughed and changed gears. This time Nick was prepared and did not latch on to Gatsby, nor did he feel the urge to scream in panic. Instead he allowed himself to grow used to the speed and found himself growing light and giddy.

The wind whipped through his hair and on his face as the boat bounced along the waves. It was almost soothing, seeing West and East Eggs growing smaller in the distant.

He turned to Gatsby, grinning, only to see the other man was looking at him with the same expression, “Faster?” Gatsby yelled over the waves. Nick hollered in delight and threw his arms up. 

Several runs later, they slowed for the final time and Nick reached up to ruffle his hair back into place, still giggling in pleasure. That’s when he noticed his hat was missing, but instead of being upset, he found it hilarious and laugh even harder that before. 

“What is it, old sport?” Gatsby asked. He looked happier that Nick had ever seem him, though he had not known him long. It was a genuine kind of happiness. The kind that Nick had not seen since coming to New York, and maybe even before that.

“I lost my hat, it must have flown off!” he laughed, but Gatsby frowned.

“I’ll buy you another,” he promised solemnly. Nick was confused by his sudden change in mood.

“What? No, it’s just a hat, don’t worry yourself.” Nick tried to assure him, but Gatsby shook his head.

“No, I-" he started, but Nick interrupted him.

“It’s truly nothing,” Nick said lightly, trying to restore the mood, “If it upset you so, then look for it as we sail more.” Gatsby didn’t seem satisfied but reluctantly turned the boat back to shore. 

On their way back, Gatsby suddenly turned them off course and pulled up to a bobbing white object in the waves. He leaned over the side and grabbed it, then sheepishly turned to Nick and offered him the water-logged hat.

Nick couldn’t help but laugh at the serendipity of it all. He accepted the hat gratefully, and if only to make Gatsby laugh, he plopped the soaked hat on his head and ignored the salty lake water dripping down his face. Gatsby did laugh, and their return to the dock was much lighter than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any spelling mistakes! I'm pretty sure I got most of them.
> 
> Thanks for all your support!


	3. Step 3: Lunch Dates

After the day with the hydroplane, Nick would greet his neighbour whenever he saw him. He attended Gatsby's party that weekend and had a much better time while still managing to stay sober. No matter how much the two spoke, Nick could not persuade Gatsby to talk about himself and was growing frustrated. Yet, no matter his frustration, Nick was grateful for whatever time Gatsby would spend with him. 

So, when Gatsby invited him to lunch almost a week after they went out in the hydroplane, Nick readily accepted. 

That's how Nick found himself driving into New York in Gatsby's cream and nickel car.

"Have you been to the city yet, old sport?" Gatsby asked to break the silence.

"Yes, Tom – my cousin Daisy's husband, if you remember, brought me to visit… friends," Nick said, growing distasteful at the end. Nick rejected that entire visit. Especially the end. 

"How did you like it?" 

Nick scowled at the memory, but shrugged, "I liked the city well enough."

"But not the company?"

Nick shrugged and looked away. He didn't like talking bad about anyone, "They weren't people I would normally associate with," Nick settled on and hoped that would satisfy Gatsby. Judging by his face it didn't but he didn't press the matter. 

Gatsby pulled into a high-end restaurant, someplace Nick would never be able to afford even if he saved for years. When they walked in, Nick felt under dressed and embarrassed, though he tried not to let it show.

They were ushered to the finest table in the building and waited on immediately, "Order anything," Gatsby said, "it's on me."

"Thank you," Nick said as he scanned the menu for the least expensive thing. To his chagrin, there were no prices. He guessed they assumed if you were dining here you didn't worry about prices.

"So, old sport, what did you during your time in New York?" Gatsby asked conversationally while they were waiting to order.

"Nothing too exciting I'm afraid. Tom has an apartment here and we spent our time there with his friends. Although I must admit I don't remember much of the evening." Nick didn't know why he added  
that. Gatsby probably thought he was a drunk now. 

But Gatsby's face held no judgement, only confusion, "Why does he own an apartment in Manhattan when he has a house in East Egg?"

"Hmm? I don't attempt to know what the rich do with their money," Nick joked, forgetting that Gatsby was just as rich as Tom. Then he thought of something, "I don't believe I ever told you where Tom and Daisy live?"

Gatsby froze for just a moment before recovering, "Ah, you must have mentioned their wealth and I assumed," he lied smoothly. Nick narrowed his eyes, he definitely didn't mention that Daisy and Tom had money.

How did Gatsby know these things about them? Was he interested in them somehow? Is that why he wished to talk to Nick about them so much? Nick's mind spun with question and suspicions, but he said none of them.

"What about you?" Nick redirected the conversation, "Do you come to New York often?" If Gatsby was going to pry, then so was Nick.

Gatsby seemed taken aback by Nick's sudden boldness. Once Nick saw Gatsby was uncomfortable answering personal questions, he skirted around asking directly. "Yes, I come whenever I have business to attend to, though I haven't come for pleasure in a while, so thank you for the excuse." Nick could tell Gatsby was being vague on purpose.

"What is your business? I don't believe you've said," Nick asked innocently. 

"I own a lot of drug-stores, in addition to an inheritance," he explained vaguely. Nick let the matter go once again, as it would be rude to question him again. Their food arrived and they feel silent until the waiter left. 

"Speaking of business, how's the bond business?" Gatsby asked.

Nick tried to hide his scowl behind his food and replied stiffly, "Business is good."

"From your tone, you don't seem to enjoy bonds," Gatsby commented lightly.

"Bonds… is not what I expected to be doing, no."

"Well, what did you what to do?" Nick flushed just at the question. It was embarrassing to admit to a businessman that he dreamed of writing. Gatsby saw his flush and teased him gently, "Come on old sport, it can't be that bad."

"I used to dream of being a writer. At Yale I studied literature," Nick admitted quietly.

Gatsby reaction was not what Nick was expecting, "A writer!" he gasped in genuine admiration, "I've always admired the arts, though I've never been good at them, myself."

Nick blushed fiercely, "I wouldn't call myself an artist…"

"Why not?" Gatsby challenged, "Isn't writing the art of words?" 

"Yes, but nothing I write would be considered ‘art'."

Gatsby seemed to ponder this for a moment, "I think you're wrong. You are very perceptive, Nick."

Nick gaped at him. That was the first time Gatsby had used his real name, in addition to being the first person to support his writing. Gatsby smiled that infallible smile at him, causing Nick to flush and turn his face to his meal, a secretly pleased smile lining his face.  
______________________  
After the meal, Gatsby and Nick talked pleasantly as they walked to the former's car. Nick felt as though there has been a shift in their relationship. Before they had been acquaintances, now they seemed to be friends.

Nick's had was on the handle of Gatsby's car when he heard his name being called from down the street, "Mr. Carraway! Mr. Carraway!"

Slightly bewildered since he didn't think he knew anyone in New York, Nick turned to the voice. A one Mr. Mckee jogging down the street to him, "Mr. Mckee," Nick greeted politely even though his cheats flushed red as memories of last they met came flooding back to him. "Ah," Nick said, suddenly remembering that he was still with Gatsby, "Mr. Mckee, this is Mr. Gatsby." Nick omitted first names because he realized, slightly disturbed, that he didn't know Mr. Mckee's first name. He wasn't sure he was ever told.

Gatsby smiled politely and shook Mr. Mckee's hand but didn't say anything. Nick felt guilty that he was forcing Gatsby to wait while he talked to a man he barely knew.

Mr. Mckee turned back to Nick and took his hand to shake it and leaned in conspiratorially, "Call me, Mr. Carraway. We'll meet for that lunch. Maybe I can show you more of my… photography," he said suggestively as he stared at Nick directly in the eyes and held his hand for too long.

Nick blushed then coughed and pulled his hand away. A glance at Gatsby told Nick that he knew exactly what Mckee was talking about. "Yes, I'll be sure to do that," Nick lied, there was no way he was going to call him. Mr. Mckee left after that.

Nick and Gatsby got back in Gatsby's car and started driving back to West Egg. Nick felt extremely uncomfortable sitting beside Gatsby after the exchange. Nick knew that Gatsby had to know. He had to, Gatsby wasn't an idiot and Mckee wasn't subtle. If he did, Nick didn't know what he would do.  
Gatsby was his only friend, not to mention a highly influential man with more contacts than Nick could count if Gatsby rejected him there was no telling what could happen. 

Nick could feel panic welling up inside of him as he inched himself farther away from Gatsby and pressed himself closer to the door. 

He noticed when Gatsby side-eyed him and opened his mouth to speak. Nick could almost faint from the panic, "So, Nick." Nick, not old sport. Was he not good enough for nicknames anymore?

"Yes?" Nick prompted meekly.

"How do you know Mr. Mckee?"

It was an innocent enough question, but Nick still blanched. "Uh – we met at Tom's party. He's one of his friends, I think," Nick stuttered out.

"Oh," Gatsby said softly.

A long silence fell over them before Gatsby spoke again, "So he's a… photographer." 

Nick refused to meet Gatsby's eyes as the other man brought up the last thing Nick wanted to talk about, "Yes," was all the explanation Nick gave him.

"Did you see his photographs?" Gatsby asked tightly. Nick braved a glance at him and saw that he was gripping the wheel tightly. He looked tense and the only reason Nick could think of was the very thing they were talking about. 

For the way Nick saw it, he had two options: he could be honest and say yes and admit to being a queer, like Gatsby already suspected, or he could deny it and lie. He didn't know which one Gatsby wanted to hear, but Nick knew that he moved to New York for a new start and that new start included not hiding from everyone around him.

"Yes," Nick breathed and almost regretted it when Gatsby didn't relax at all.

Instead, Gatsby said something very strange. A simple question that would stay with Nick for days and weeks afterwards. 

"Did you like it? His photography, I mean," He asked, hands-on tightly gripping the wheel and eyes staring straight ahead. 

Nick openly gaped at him, unsure why a man such as Gatsby, or any man for that matter, would want to know that. Instead of questioning the other man, Nick tried to defuse the tension between them, "They weren't bad… but I've seen better."

Gatsby let out a surprised huff of laughter and relaxed his fingers. They continued to drive in silence, but Nick snuck a look at Gatsby's face and saw a small smile there the entire ride home and he was confident that Gatsby wasn't repulsed by him.

____________________  
It had been almost two weeks since Nick had heard from Gatsby again. Rationally, Nick knew that it didn't have anything to do with Gatsby finding out Nick was queer. Or maybe it did. How was Nick supposed to know if Gatsby avoided him? He wished Gatsby would just tell him so that he could be free of the panic that followed him like a shadow.

Nick was sitting quietly in this living room, pouring over his stocks and bonds book, trying to find the sale skills he was so desperately lacking when the phone rang.

Nick nearly jumped out of his skin then eyed the phone wearily. No one called him except for Daisy, Jordan, and Gatsby, but none had called in the past two weeks. So, with some trepidation, Nick answered the phone with a polite, "Hello?"

"Nick, my boy! How goes the bond business!" the sturdy, yet the cheerful voice of his father rang through the phone.

"Oh, you know…" Nick trailed off. He couldn't lie to his father, however much he wanted to.

"You know you can always come home if you need to, Nick." His father's voice turned worried. He had been against Nick leaving the west in the first place but had tentatively allowed it after much pleading on Nick's part. 

"No, no, no, Dad, I'm doing quite alright for myself. I like New York," Nick hastily reassured his father. If his dad knew just how hard of a time Nick was having, he'd stop funding him and demand he come home in an instant.

"That's good, Nick, wonderful!" There was a lull from the other side of the phone. "Have you met any special women, yet?" Ah, there it was.

Nick hesitated. Part of the reason he had moved away from home was to avoid questions like this. He knew his family was suspicious of him, he also knew that was part of the reason they were hesitant to let him move to New York.

"Yes. I've been seeing a friend of Daisy's, Jordan Baker." Not a lie, he had technically been seeing her. Kind of.

"The golfer?"

"The very same."

His father laughed from the other side of the phone, "That's good, Nick! I can't wait to meet her!"

"We're not serious yet…" Nick tried to derail his father's hopes before they got too high. He changed the subject and he chatted with his father about his family and what the gossip was around his hometown. 

After an hour, Nick tried to hint to his father that he had to go. That's when his father brought up the one thing Nick was hoping they would avoid.

"Nick, you should spend more time with that Jordan of yours," His father said seriously.

"Of course I will," Nick agreed causally, his anxiety rising steadily. 

His father's voice lowered, "What you do. It's not… right in a civilized society. It's animalistic."

"I know," he replied briskly.

"It was okay during the war, those were different times, but you're not in the war anymore."

"I know," Nick repeated, fiddling with the phone cord. He wondered how ashamed his father would be if he knew about Mr. McKee.

"Invite Jordan to tea."

"I'll invite her over today," Nick said a brief goodbye, then quickly hung up the phone. He let out a long sigh before picking up the receiver with resignation and dialing Daisy's number, where he knew Jordan was staying.

The phone rang three times before the butler answered and asked who he would like to speak to. 

Nick opened his mouth to reply, but the words died in his throat. Suddenly and without thinking, he slammed the receiver back down. He looked at his phone in shock, barely able to understand why or how he could do that. He reached his hand out to call back and apologize but stopped just as his fingertips grazed the cool plastic.

Why was he doing this? Leading Jordan on just because his father demanded he does it? Nick liked to believe he was a better person than that. He had wasted enough of his life doing what others demanded he do. If the war had taught him anything, it was that life was short and a moment wasted is a moment gone and Nick wasn't going to waste another moment.  
He took a deep breath to quell the nausea stirring in his stomach then pick the receiver up again.

"Hello?" a familiar voice answered.

"Hello, It's Nick Carraway."

"Nick! How have you been?" the person on the other side greeted enthusiastically.

"Good," he breathed out quickly, as to not lose his nerve, "I was wondering if you would like to join me for tea this afternoon?" There was a pause, it wasn't even that long, but Nick's heart still beat loud enough he feared the other man would hear it.

"Of course, old sport, I would love to." Nick breathed a sigh of relief.

"Great, I'll set the kettle boiling." Nick hung up the receiver after a quick goodbye before leaning against the wall, almost breathless. With a hand on his chest to calm his fluttering heart, Nick let out a breathy laugh.

He was becoming a lovesick idiot, wasn't he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thanks for your support. So, as you can tell my posting is kinda erratic, that's because I had these chapters written already and I was just posting them whenever I felt like it.
> 
> Now I don't have anymore chapters so I'm debating whether or not to post them as I finish them; write short (2000-3000 words like these ones) every 3 days; or write longer ones (idk like 5000 words?) every week.
> 
> Then again, I suck at keeping schedules, but never fear! I will finish this story bc I have the ending already written and it's really cute and I need you all to read it.


	4. Step 4: Lies

“You’re being very dull today, old sport,” Gatsby complained from where he sat across from Nick on said man’s porch.  
  
Nick snorted, not looking up from the bond book he was studying, “You’re the one who decided to come over this morning,” Nick reminded him.  
  
It had been almost two weeks since Nick had invited him over for tea. Since then Nick had seen the man every day, whether Gatsby come over or Nick visited him.  
  
“Well, I usually enjoy your company. That is when you pay more attention to me than your books,” Gatsby huffed.  
  
Nick hid his smile behind the book, “Not all of us millionaires. Some of us still have to make a living,” Nick lifted the book and gestured grandly to it, “So you’ll just have to suffer through your boredom.”  
  
“What are you even reading?” Gatsby grabbed the book from Nick’s hand before he could pull it away, “ ‘Banking and credit and investment securities’, I’m sorry to tell you, old sport, but you’re not going to learn anything like this.”  
  
Scowling, Nick snatched the book back and held it protectively to his chest, “What do you know about bonds anyway!” Nick snapped.  
  
Gatsby looked taken aback. He had never once heard Nick raise his voice at anyone, even when he was extremely annoyed at them. Gatsby held his hands up in surrender, “I’m sorry, I-”  
  
Nick’s eyes widened. The last thing he wanted was Gatsby to think he was upset with him. Nick didn’t think anything could make him dislike Gatsby, “No, no, no. I’m sorry. I’m just stressed,” he gave a short self-deprecating laugh while rubbing his hands over his face, “The bond business is harder than I thought it would be.”  
  
Gatsby flashed his smile and the stress melted out of Nick’s limbs. He couldn’t help but return it. “You know what you need?” Gatsby asked, slapping his shoulder fondly, “You need a break. Come on, we’re going to lunch.”  
  
Gatsby grabbed Nick’s hand and hauled him to his feet. Nick blushed furiously at the touch, electric sparks shooting through his body. As much as Nick loathed to do it, he broke free of the hold. “I can’t, I’m going to tea with Jordan this afternoon.” Nick had called her in a moment of panic after one of his co-workers asked him if his secret smiles were due to a new lady-friend. Nick panicked, thinking they could tell he was thinking about a certain blond millionaire.  
  
Other than the fact that he had to meet Jordan for tea, Nick also didn’t really want to go to the city. Don’t get him wrong, every second he spent in Gatsby’s presence was like a gift from God, but Nick knew if he could handle the overwhelming wealth that was shoved in his face last time.  
  
Gatsby waved his excuse off, “I know, I wanted to talk to you before you saw her.”  
  
Nick narrowed his eyes, “What do you mean you know?”  
  
Gatsby sighed and clasped his hands, “Nick, look. I’ll explain everything on the way.” He walked to his obscenely yellow car, “Come on, I promise you’ll have fun.” Gatsby flashed that goddamn smile at him and Nick’s resolved crumpled under its light.  
  
“I highly doubt that,” Nick pouted as he got into the car, huffing and crossing his arms like a petulant child.  
  
  
Nick was correct in assuming he wouldn’t have fun.  
  
They arrived after a car ride where Gatsby repeatedly lied to Nick over and over again about his past, for seemingly no reason. It wasn’t like Nick was going to like him anymore or any less knowing he got his money from his family, which Nick could say with one hundred percent certainty was a lie. If anything Nick was angry that Gatsby thought he was dumb enough to believe any of the lies and that the other man apparently thought he still had to prove himself to Nick.  
  
Gatsby led Nick out of his car and towards a barbershop, “Come on, old sport,” Gatsby encouraged at Nick’s reluctance. He placed a guiding hand on his shoulder and ushered him into the shop.  
  
Nick took a deep breath, his patience wearing thin, “I thought we were going to lunch?”  
  
Gatsby laughed and clapped his shoulder, “Of course we are.” Nick raised his eyebrow but didn’t say anything else, not really in the mood to deal with all that was Jay Gatsby right now.  
  
Gatsby knocked a rhythm onto the far wall and to Nick surprise, a slit opened up. The bouncer only had to take one look at Gatsby before the door was rushed opened and they were being ushered to the very best table in the place, which was situated right in front of the stage.  
  
A beady-eyed man was sitting at their table that Nick did not like the look of at all but he stood as they approached and embraced Gatsby without hesitation, so Nick reminded himself not to judge and greeted the man with a smile.  
  
“Nick! This is my friend, Mr. Wolfsheim.” Gatsby threw his arm around Nick as the two other men shook hands. Nick couldn’t help but blush a little, tilting his head down to try and hide it.  
  
“Nick Carraway. How do you do?” Nick asked politely. The man didn’t answer him, instead ignoring him in favour of telling Gatsby some story, which was completely fine with Nick. Instead, he did what he did best, sitting in the shadows and observing.  
  
Gatsby leaned towards Mr. Wolfsheim as the latter spoke so Gatsby obviously held the man in great esteem. Yet as Nick listened to the story Wolfsheim was regaling Gatsby with, Nick couldn’t help but wonder why. Nick didn’t want to make any assumptions but from the sounds of it, Mr. Wolfsheim was not in the business of honourable men… so how does a man like that make a man like Gatsby’s acquaintance?  
  
Nick smiled as he examined Gatsby. The man’s blond hair perfectly place, his white teeth glimmering as he smiled at whatever Mr. Wolfsheim was saying, a direct contrast to their dark and depraved surroundings. He was like a shining beacon of goodness in an otherwise sinful world. Nick sighed a little, resting his head on his hand before forcing his gaze away from Gatsby.  
  
“I’m afraid we’re boring poor Mr. Carraway,” Wolfsheim laughed, gesturing over to Nick, who was still staring dreamily into space.  
  
Gatsby smiled and clapped Nick’s shoulder, “Come on, old sport, this has to be more fun than your books.”  
  
Nick jumped at the sudden contact and blushed furiously. “No, I’m having a wonderful time,” Nick flailed his arms around, trying to gesture to show how great of a time he was apparently having. He looked down, still blushing “I’m just tired.”  
  
Nick’s eye’s flickered back up, only to find Gatsby staring down at him. The corners of his lips were twitched up so slightly it could barely be called a smile… but still. If Nick had to describe it, he would say Gatsby looked fond. Fond. Of him, Nick Carraway. Even as he was being the awkward mess he always was. Gatsby was fond of him, no pretending needed.  
  
Nick’s heart clenched so hard it was painful. Knowing that someone knew who he was, the real him and not the person his family wanted him to be and was still fond of him was so… freeing. Still, Nick forced himself to look away. It hurt to know that that was all it would be. A platonic fondness.  
  
“Mr. Carraway,” Wolfsheim broke the silence, “I understand you’re looking for a business connection.”  
  
Gatsby’s head whipped around, breaking out of whatever trance he was in while looking at Nick, “No. No, no, no. This isn’t him.” Gatsby held his hand to his chest as if trying to still his heart. “This is just the friend I was telling you about.”  
  
Nick raised his eyebrow but didn’t say anything about the outburst. Wolfsheim laughed it off, though he looked a little disappointed. Nick couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing. He patted Nick’s arm apologetically. “I beg your pardon, I had a wrong man.”  
  
Nick smiled up at him, resisting the urge to move his hand out from under the other’s touch, “No harm done.”  
  
The food arrived then, before Nick could even entertain the thought of asking who the other man was. Wolfsheim seemed to completely forget the other two men were even there as he started to eat his food with such ferocity you would think he was starving.  
  
Nick pushed the food around on his plate, uninterested in eating anything that was made in a speakeasy kitchen. He was so absorbed in making a mess of the meal that he almost jumped out of his seat when a hand was laid on his shoulder. Nick whipped his head only to be greeted with Gatsby’s smiling face.  
  
“Look here, old sport,” said Gatsby in a hushed voice, leaning toward Nick, “I’m afraid I made you a little angry this morning in the car.” His smile only got wider, trying to butter Nick up. Nick frowned, holding out against the dazzling smile.  
  
“I don’t like mysteries,” Nick answered, dropping his fork against his plate a little loudly. He shrugged Gatsby’s hand off, “and I don’t like being lied to.”  
  
Gatsby withdrew the hand and set it back on the table, tapping out a nervous rhythm. “I wasn’t lying, old sport, I-”  
  
“Then why don’t you just tell me what you want to tell me. Why does it have to come through Jordan,” Nick cut him off, crossing his arms and turning his head a slightly away from Gatsby.  
  
Gatsby sighed and pinched his brow. Nick didn’t feel good about frustrating him, but he also didn’t like it when people he thought were his friends lied to him. Gatsby looked almost absently at his watch, probably trying to stall for time, but then he suddenly grabbed the face of the watch, peering closely at the time. “I have to make a phone call.” Then he stood and rushed from the table.  
  
Nick couldn’t help but stare at him as he walked away. A low chuckle came across from the table. Nick looked over slowly, a blush rising on his face. Wolfsheim was shooting him a knowing gaze, a subtle smirk gracing his face. Nick looked away from him sharply, heart racing a little faster.  
  
“He’s a fine fellow, isn’t he? A real gentleman. And quite handsome to look at, don’t you agree Mr. Carraway?” Wolfsheim drawled from across the table.  
  
Nick didn’t really know what to say but, “Yes.”  
  
Wolfsheim went on to sing Gatsby’s praises, claiming he went to Oxford, and a whole other assortment of thing Nick didn’t believe. In fact, he was starting to suspect that this whole lunch was set up just for this elaborate lie. The only thing was that Nick didn’t know why.  
  
“Very careful about his… companions, Gatsby is,” Wolfsheim said casually, fiddling with his shirt cuffs in a way that shows that it was anything but casual.  
  
Nick raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”  
  
Wolfsheim waved his hand, “You know, boys at college, in the war. What they get up to.” Nick gave him a skeptical look. Was he saying what he thought he was saying… was Gatsby…? No, couldn’t be. Wolfsheim looked at him with a sudden directness, “You would know, wouldn’t you Mr. Carraway?”  
  
“I assure you-” Nick started but Wolfsheim cut him off with another dismissive wave.  
  
“Of course not, Mr. Carraway, of course. I’m merely saying you could trust him with a friend’s wife.”  
  
Nick furrowed his brow, “What?”  
  
Wolfsheim didn’t answer as Gatsby had returned from his phone call. Before he even sat down, Wolfsheim rose and clapped his shoulder, “Thank you for the meal, gentlemen, but I have other business to attend to.”  
  
Gatsby’s eyes darted from Nick to Wolfsheim, looking like he really didn’t care if Wolfsheim left or not, “Don’t hurry, Meyer,” Gatsby said without enthusiasm. Wolfsheim brushed him off and left promptly, leaving Gatsby and Nick alone again.  
  
Gatsby looked nervous, glancing at Nick when he thought the other man wasn’t looking and staring down at his food when he thought he was. Finally, Nick sighed and dropped his fork, “Wolfsheim, who is he anyway?” Nick asked just to break the silence.  
  
“He’s a gambler, old sport,” he leaned in, almost conspiratorially, “He’s the one who fixed the World Series.” Nick frowned at him, but Gatsby just looked wistful. Like doing something like that was to be admired, but all Nick could think of were all the jobs lost and lives ruined.  
  
Nick shook his head and went back to his dinner, refusing to even talk about it anymore. Gatsby seemed to sense the change in mood and also didn’t say anything more about it.  
  
Nick was still curious about what Wolfsheim had hinted at, but he was almost too scared to ask about it… but then again this whole outing had been strange, why not make it uncomfortable too?  
  
Nick pushed the food around on his plate, stomach-churning too much to eat anything, “So, Gatsby, Wolfsheim said something interesting,” Nick said refusing to look up at said man.  
  
Gatsby looked alarmed, “What’s that, old sport?” he said coolly though.  
  
Seeing his discomfort, Nick almost backed out but he steeled himself and asked anyway. Gatsby asked him when he was obviously uncomfortable, “He mentioned your interest in…photography,” he forced himself to meet Gatsby’s eyes so that the other man knew what he meant.  
  
Gatsby tilted his head up, grabbing his drink nonchalantly, “Oh, he seems to have misinformed you.”  
  
Nick’s heart hit the floor, he forced the blush from his face while looking back at his food. All he could think to say to that was, “Oh, I-”  
  
Gatsby continued as if he didn’t hear him, “I have an appreciation of all art. Photography included.”  
  
Nick’s head whipped up, meeting Gatsby’s gaze. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Even if Gatsby was queer as well that didn’t mean Nick had even the slightest chance with him, why would Gatsby spared him a second glance when he had his choice of the whole of New York. Still, it was nice to know that there was someone else out there that knew how he felt.  
  
With the tense atmosphere broken, Nick could almost forget about the events leading up to lunch and enjoy having Gatsby’s attention solely on him. At the end of the meal, Nick demanded that he pay for it since Gatsby had taken him out and paid last time. Gatsby fought him quite hard on it until Nick gave him a stern look then he backed off.  
  
As they head to the exit, Nick spotted the exact person he didn’t want to see. Tom Buchanan.  
  
Nick grabbed Gatsby by the hand and pulled him through the crowd, glad that they were in a busy speakeasy since no one spared them a second glance. Just before the exit, Gatsby stopped an pulled his hand from Nick, scanning the crowd for whatever Nick had seen.  
  
“Can we just go?” Nick hissed, pulling Gatsby by the sleeve.  
  
The other man didn’t move. “Why? What’s wrong,” Gatsby furrowed his brow, examining Nick’s face.  
  
Nick brushed him off, trying to hide the worry on his face, “Nothing, l-let’s just go, okay?”  
  
Still, Gatsby refused to move, “Nick, just tell me.”  
  
Nick sighed and rubbed his face in defeat, “Look, it’s just… you know my cousin? Daisy? Her husband is over there and I just… don’t want to talk to him.” Nick said, point the man out. It wasn’t the whole truth, but Nick thought he could get away with a little lying since Gatsby had been lying all afternoon.  
  
“Why not?” Gatsby asked. Nick shook his head, looking down. Why couldn’t Gatsby just accept it? Nick knew he was concerned about him, but Nick respected Gatsby’s secrets. Why couldn’t the other man do the same? Gatsby looked at him for a moment, evaluating his next move. Nick shivered under his gaze.  
  
Suddenly, as if decided what to do Gatsby turned from him and started towards Tom. Nick’s eye widened and almost on instinct he grabbed for Gatsby’s arm. “Don’t!”  
  
“Why not.”  
  
Nick sighed and dropped his arm, knowing exactly what Gatsby had done. “Fine. Just… Last time I was in a place like this with another man, it didn’t exactly end well.” Nick gritted through his teeth.  
  
Gatsby looked genuinely upset for him, and something inside of Nick tingled at just the thought that someone actually cared about him or could sympathize with something like that.  
  
“Nick, I’m sorry-” Gatsby started to apologize, but Nick shook his head and shot Gatsby a smile.  
“Not your fault… you’re- you-. I mean, I- I appreciate that you… care.” Nick stuttered, struggling to say the right thing, feeling like he had to say something though. He breathed deeply as if that would clear the bright-red flushed covering his face. “Let’s just go.”  
  
“Okay, Nick.” Nick glanced up at him. He looked so… content. As if the other man’s happiness triggered his own, Nick realized that, for the first time in a long time, he was content too.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks! Thanks for all your comment, they make me really happy! Anyway, regarding the updating schedule; I've decided to update twice a week with chapters being as long as I think they should be, I'm not going to force myself to write crap chapters just to make them longer.
> 
> Anyway. I will update every Tuesday and Saturday. Next update 3rd of September bc I'm moving into residence this week for my first year of uni.
> 
> My course load is also really heavy, especially coming from high school so the schedule might change or I might miss an update.
> 
> Thanks <3<3<3<3<3


	5. Step 5: Rejection

As Nick sat in the taxi taking him to tea with Jordan, he began to stew again. Lunch with Gatsby had gone well, or as well as could be expected with how foul a mood Nick was in, but at the end of the meal, Nick found himself content and relaxed. It was only now that he had time to think, away from Gatsby, that he remembered he was upset. Upset that the only person in this goddam city he actually liked thought he was untrustworthy, that that same person thought he was too stupid to realize he was being lied to. Gatsby didn’t even try to explain himself, just took off. Now Nick had to get whatever information Gatsby had wanted to tell him second hand from Jordan.

Nick didn’t trust Jordan as much as he trusted Gatsby, or even liked her as much. Nick thought Gatsby knew this, as on several occasions Nick had remarked on her careless attitude. So the only reason Nick could think of as to why Jordan had to be the one to tell him, is because Gatsby couldn’t lie to him. 

Nick didn’t know if he should be flattered or not. Obviously, if Gatsby was having someone else lie to Nick for him then Gatsby must care about him enough that he doesn’t want to lie… but then why had he lied just that afternoon? Nick was confused and, to be frank, a little hurt by his neighbour’s lack of trust considering that he had shared a lot with Gatsby that could get him in trouble. 

Nick didn’t have any more time to dwell on it as the driver had pulled up next to the tea house. Nick opened his door before the driver could even get out to assist him, hating how it made him feel superior to the driver even though Nick didn’t know him. He paid the driver well, knowing that the trip from West Egg to New York was a long and busy one that was pledged by traffic. 

Jordan was already seated as Nick entered the building, leaping up from her seat and waving him over-enthusiastically, a sly grin on her face telling Nick that she had some gossip she was just dying to share. 

“Nick! Oh, I’m so glad to see you, it’s been far too long!” she beamed, grabbing his hand from across the table and leaning in close, “I’m been dying to tell someone ever since that party.”

Nick had to pull back a little and blink, forcing a smile on his face and falling into his usual air of politeness, “Dying to tell what?” Nick asked, unsure what exactly she was talking about but having a feeling it involved a one Jay Gatsby. Nick had to pause for a moment and wonder how even though he was the one to invite Jordan to tea, it felt like this was part of Jordan’s and Gatsby’s plan all along. 

Jordan dived into the story about Daisy and Gatsby’s summer love affair. Nick listened politely but was confused about how this had anything to do with him. Surely a romance five years ago had not lasted?

Jordan broke him out of his ponders with a hand on his arm, “Do you remember that night in the parlour room? When I mentioned a Gatsby, and she asked “What Gatsby?” She was talking about Jay Gatsby, your neighbour and the officer in the car! They are the same person!” Jordan squealed, still quiet enough so they wouldn’t be overheard. 

“What a strange coincident,” Nick commented ideally, wondering what this had to do with him.

“But it’s not!” Jordan exclaimed, squeezing his arm in excitement, “Gatsby bought that house specifically because it overlooks hers.”

“Why would he do that?” Nick asked, not fully understanding or refusing to, he didn’t even know.  
“Because, Nick, he still loves her. After all these years!” Jordan answered dreamily.

Nick frowned, moving his arm away from Jordan’s hand, “Why didn’t he tell me all this himself? Why did he have you tell me this at all?”

“He wants to know,” Jordan continued, ignoring Nick’s first question in favour of answering the second, “ if you’ll invite Daisy over for tea then let him come over.”

What? Just tea? As simple as the request was, it still shook Nick. Gatsby had pinned over his cousin for five years, buying a mansion, throwing lavish parties in the hopes that he might see her again and here he was asking Nick to invite his cousin over for a simple cup of tea.

If it was so simple, why did Nick want to say no so badly?

“Why did I need to know all this if he just wanted me to invite her to tea?” Nick asked, looking away from Jordan sharply to frown in his tea like it was the one who wronged him.

Nick remembered the quiver in Daisy’s voice as she asked Jordan about Gatsby, the barely contained excitement and fear and reverence coating her crystalline voice. How could he deny his own cousin even a sliver of happiness just because of - because of what? Petty jealousy? 

“He was worried you’d be offended. He’s worked so hard and so long just to see her.”

Nick mentally slapped himself. How could he think he could ever have a chance with Gatsby? This man who was so in love with Daisy he’d built his whole life around her. How could his feelings ever amount or even compare to something like that? No, Nick needed to let his petty crush go so that two people he cares about can have their happiness.

“Does Daisy even want to see Gatsby?” Nick asked a while later after they had finished their tea and Nick was helping Jordan into her coat. 

Jordan craned her neck around to look at Nick who was standing behind her, her sharp chin almost hitting him, “Daisy is not to know anything.”

Nick frowned, he didn’t want to force Daisy into anything she didn’t want… though Nick supposed that he would be with them the entire time and could prevent anything like that. He then nodded, dropping his hands from Jordan as she finished putting on her jacket.

She didn’t let his hands get far before she grabbed one and intertwined it with her own. Nick waited until they were out of the tea house and walking in the cool nighttime air of New York before he said something.

“Miss Baker, I am flattered, but I cannot return your affections,” Nick said as politely as possible, trying to carefully extract his hand from hers.

However, Jordan just holds on tighter, “I know,” she says with a sad smile, “neither can I.”

Nick looked down at her, bewildered, “Then why…?” he trailed off, gesturing to their hands.

“Because, Mr. Carraway, you interest me and if I have to saddled with someone then I at least want them to be entertaining,” Jordan said flippantly, but Nick could tell there was a hidden layer of care laying under the statement. She seemed to care about him, and for right then that was all Nick could hope for.

Nick breathed out a deep sigh, forcing his feelings for Gatsby to the back of his mind, instead of focusing on the small, calloused hand in his. Nick pulled Jordan’s hand to his lips, “Until later then, Miss Baker.” Nick hailed her a cab.

As he watched her get in, Nick’s heart sank. He had come to New York for a fresh start, free of fear. Yet here he was, running from himself once again. Sighing a deep sigh, Nick hailed his own cab and directed the diver to his home.

______________________________________________________________________________  
Nick could hardly breath as he got out of the cab. He stood, transfixed, staring at Gatsby’s house, lit like it was on fire. The light pierced through the trees, shining on Nick’s own little shack but instead of making it look worse, it glowed.

“What do you think, old sport?” Nick jumped as Gatsby set a hand on his shoulder. Nick his head to face Gatsby, and was a little flattered to find the other man starting back, even though the sight of his house was much more spectacular.

Nick forced his eyes from Gatsby, turning back to the house, “It’s beautiful. Like your house is a shining star that you’ve pluck from the very heavens and placed here on earth,” Nick breathed, still enchanted by the house.

Gatsby didn’t say anything, just stood beside Nick in silence, watching the other man carefully. “Would you like to come in?”

In truth, there was nothing Nick would enjoy more than spending more time in his neighbour presence, but instead of accepting he said, “I can’t, I have work tomorrow.”

Gatsby made a humming noise but didn’t protest, probably because Nick has gotten angry with him just that morning while discussing work. “Well, like me at least walk you to your door,” Gatsby proposed, holding out his arm like a gentleman, face completely serious.

Nick stared back at him, lips turned in a barely concealed smile. “I think I can manage a few steps, Mr. Gatsby,” Nick teased.

“I’m sure you can, Mr. Carraway, however, I insist,” Gatsby replied, humour lacing his words. He didn’t move his arm.

Nick gave a dramatic sigh followed by a snicker before he took the man’s arm, letting Gatsby lead him across his own lawn.

“Your grass is getting long,” Gatsby commented, waving his arm towards the line between Nick’s over-grown lawn and his immaculate one.

“Then maybe you should cut it,” Nick shot back, not sparing him a glance.

Nick meant it as a joke, expecting the other to at least chuckle or something, but he didn’t. They stopped abruptly at Nick porch. He forgot how small his house was compared to Gatsby’s.

Gatsby didn’t turn to leave, instead, he turned so that he and Nick were facing each other. Closer than what was strictly polite, but Nick had a small porch.

“I can if you want, old sport,” Gatsby said.

“What?” Nick asked, a little bewildered and not fully understanding what the other man meant.

“Have the grass cut.”

Nick frowned, “Why would you do that?”

“It’s no problem, old sport.”

Nick looked at him, really looked at him. Gatsby looked so eager. Eager to please, eager to see what Nick answer to the question of Daisy would be. It was so innocent and pure, like a child thinking they would make friends by giving them candy at recess.

“You know you don’t have to bribe me,” Nick said bluntly, through with all the complexity of the day and longing for a simple, honest conversation.

Gatsby looked taken aback for a minute, then schooled his features, “Whatever do you mean, old sport?” he asked, looking away from Nick.

“You know what I mean,” Nick said, waving off his poor attempt at lying. God, he was really bad at lying, “I’m your friend, I don’t need anything else other than your friendship.” Nick shuffled closer, subconsciously trying to give comfort to the older man.

Gatsby smiled, pure and genuine, “I know, old sport. I feel the same about you.” Gatsby also shuffled closer, but if the man was aware of it he didn’t show any sign of it. Nick, on the other hand, was acutely aware of the diminishing space between them.

Nick’s chest fluttered, so he pushed those feelings aside, “As you should, my friendship is payment enough.” His joke fell flat though, voice breathless instead of teasing.

“Yes, it is.” Gatsby was inches away from him, face sincere and gentle, and oh so handsome. His blue eyes staring back at Nick with the intensity of an ocean, silver flecks like diamonds shining in the night.

Nick’s eyes flickered down to Gatsby’s lips, daring himself to think for just a moment about what would happen if he just pressed his own against them. Instead, he forced his eyes back up to Gatsby’s. 

The other man’s eyes had caught the movement, but to Nick surprise, there was no anger or disgust or even confusion. Just curiosity. Did that mean Gatsby might want him too…? Nick desperately wanted to find out, his head moving on its own accord.

Yet, his head was faster than his heart, sharply turning his face away from Gatsby’s and forcing his feet to shuffle backwards.

“I’m going to call Daisy tomorrow and invite her over for tea.”

Nick quickly glanced up at Gatsby. He looked more dazed then pleased.

“Daisy?” He asked, testing the word out as if this were his first time saying it.

“Yes. I’ll invite her for tea. Does the day after tomorrow suit you?” Nick was being brief and rude, he knew that, but Nick cared about Gatsby and Gatsby wanted Daisy. Not Nick.

Gatsby seemed to snap back into reality, nodding at Nick’s suggestion, “Of course, if it suits you, old sport.”

“It does.”

The stood in silence on Nick porch for a long while until Gatsby spoke again, “Nick-”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jay,” Nick said, cutting him off, refusing to hear a rejection. 

“Oh, of course.” Gatsby bid a quick farewell before wondering from Nick’s yard to his own, staring up into his lit-up house.

Nick didn’t let himself linger long on the porch. He went straight to bed and force himself to sleep, a trick he learned in the army, pretending he’d forgotten all about his neighbour who he was undeniably in love with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy I'm back!!! Did you miss me :)))))??


	6. Step 6: Tea

“Don’t bring Tom,” Nick warned hastily after he inviting Daisy over for tea.

“What?” Daisy asked, her voice light and enchanting as always.

“Don’t bring Tom,” Nick repeated, hoping she wouldn’t question how suspicious that sounded.

Luckily, she replied, “Who’s Tom?” Nick could image her on the other side of the line, fiddling with the phone cord, playing coy even though there was no one around to see her.

Nick chuckled genuinely. Daisy was perfect. She was beautiful, witty, charismatic. The best wife a man could ask for, and if Nick actually cared about Gatsby he would help him get the best. Gatsby deserved the best. He didn’t deserve to be saddled with someone like Nick.

After he hung up with Daisy, Nick looked around his little shack. Books covered the couches and tables. Notes were scattered across the room, just little things he’d jotted down or stories he’d come up with on the spot. Nick deflated at the sight of it.

A cluttered house was a cluttered mind. Or so Nick was taught. He’s often pondered this so-called advice as he’d brooded around his room, organizing because his father had scolded him for it. Shouldn’t a cluttered mind be something to strive for? Cluttered with thoughts and ideas and worries and everything that make people human, why shouldn’t he want to be thinking and creating all the time?

But the more Nick analyzed the saying and the more he looked at people like Daisy and Tom, the more he understood. They didn’t let all those thoughts in their head because they believed they were above them, it wasn’t even their fault either, they were just raised to believe that their money made them more than human, that they were above the petty struggles and worries of the human condition. Like they almost thought themselves gods.

The thought of stripping his humanity for money disgusted Nick, he knew that. He couldn’t image treating people like Tom did, like they were toys, or pretending the world didn’t exist as Daisy did. But if Nick knew all this, then why did he feel so pathetic.

With that thought in mind, Nick picked the receiver back up and called Gatsby.

“Hello, old sport!” Gatsby greeted after being handed the phone by his butler.

Nick skipped pleasantries and got straight to the point, “If you want to cut the grass, you should do it know.”

“What do you mean, old sport?” Gatsby sounded confused like he didn’t remember their conversation from the night before.

“I called Daisy. She’s coming over tomorrow.” What Nick thought would be good news was met with silence.

“Oh,” Gatsby said finally, “Oh, yes. Thank you, old sport.”

Nick shrugged off the thanks, it was a simple enough request, “Yes well, it was no problem.”

There was silence from the other side. A silence that Nick didn’t dare break for fear of saying something he shouldn’t, and if he couldn’t say what he really wanted to then Nick didn’t know what to say.

“I’ll send my gardener over,” Gatsby said, breaking the silence.

“I’ll be waiting.” Nick then bid him farewell and started cleaning his house in anticipation of Daisy’s visit the next day.

On the day Daisy was to come, it was pouring rain. Not just rain either, the wind chilled it and blew it violently, making it hit like thousands of tiny daggers against your skin, should you chose to go out in it. Umbrellas were rendered almost useless, yet there Gatsby was, marching solemnly down Nick’s walkway as if to his death, half a dozen servants holding umbrellas all around him. Somehow the rain never touched him. It was most likely due to the sheer number of umbrellas around the man, but Nick believed that the very heavens themselves couldn’t be brought to harm him.

“Is everything alright?” Gatsby asked as he reached the porch where Nick was waiting for him. Although the porch was covered, Nick still found himself soaked to the bone. 

Gatsby stood rigid, frowning at the puddles of mud that had formed in the newly cut grass and the flowers that lay sagging and bent from the force of the drops. All in all, Nick felt a deep pity for the man. He spent years of his life waiting for even the slightest chance to see Daisy again and now that it had presented itself it seemed that Mother Nature herself rejected it.

A part of Nick hoped the other man would take these signs to heart, but Nick squashed those hopes.

“The grass looks fine, if that’s what you mean,” Nick joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Gatsby look from him to the yard in alarm, like Nick confirming that it was fine, confirmed in his own mind that it wasn’t. Nick was a little offended the Gatsby has such low faith in his taste. Well, more amused than offended, as Nick had thought his yard fine until the day before.

Gatsby tore his gaze away from the grass and back up to Nick, “Yes, yes, old sport. The grass looks fine.” The smile he gave Nick was fake. Nick suppressed his frown. The very thought of Gatsby being disingenuous because of Daisy’s arrive made him want to call the whole thing off.

“One of the papers said that the rain would stop around four,” Nick said in an attempt to reassure the man as it was around three as they spoke. Gatsby hummed, but didn’t sound entirely convinced, “I believe it was the Journal they’re reliable, aren’t they?” Nick gave him an eager look, trying to somehow project positive emotions.

“Of course,” Gatsby agreed, though his gaze didn’t drift from the rain.

“Well, we can’t wait about in the rain for an hour. I’m soaked to the bone as it is,” Nick said, wrapping his arms around his body to show just how cold he was.

Gatsby turned quickly, concern written over his face. He ushered Nick into his own house, directing him to get changed while he boiled tea. Nick tried to protest the concern, but the other man was very insistent and Nick believed that Gatsby was trying to distract himself from Daisy’s arrival so Nick let it be.

When Nick came back down the stairs, Gatsby sat lounging on Nick’s love seat, two teacups cooling in front of him.

Nick chuckled as he sat next to Gatsby in the armchair, picking up the steaming cup of tea and letting it warm his hands, “I’m suppressed you even know how to make tea,” Nick teased.

Gatsby huffed a laugh as he spooned sugar into his tea, “Of course I do, old sport. I’m amused you would think otherwise.”

“Tom certainly wouldn’t know how to boil a kettle himself, and why would he when he’s been surrounded by servants his whole life?” Nick sipped the tea. It was actually good. Perfectly steeped with the right amount of milk and sugar.

“Yes, well I wasn’t always surrounded by servants,” Gatsby said ideally, eyes lazily flicking to the window. He seemingly didn’t know what he’d just said.

Nick raised his brow. Nick knew that Gatsby was lying when he told him that he’d come from old money. “Oh?” Nick asked innocently, “I thought you said you were left money by your family?”

Gatsby looked sharply back at him, recognizing his slip, “I was, old sport, after the war of course. By then I had already learned to make tea.”

Nick frowned but didn’t call him out on his lie. Instead, he sat back, sipping his tea and watching the rain patter against the window panes.

As the clock ticked closer to four on the mantle, Gatsby started pacing. Nick sighed internally. Daisy wouldn’t be there until four and the other man was already acting like it was nearing midnight, yet Nick took a deep breath and tried to be reasonable.

“Why don’t you sit down? Daisy won’t be here until four, maybe even later because of the weather,” Nick smile reassuringly, gesturing to the window were outside the rain hadn’t let up like the paper said it would. If anything it was getting worse, if that was possible.

Gatsby sat jittering on the love seat, eyes darting from Nick, the clock, the window, and the door in rapid succession. Nick understood he was nervous, and since Nick was a very understanding person instead of hitting the other man upside the head and telling him to calm himself, he excused himself to the kitchen for a short break.

Nick busied himself with washing the teacups and teapot again. He knew neither Gatsby or Daisy would say anything, yet he didn’t want to risk it. Plus, the scrubbing motion helped soothe his nerves set on edge from Gatsby’s anxieties. 

After washing, Nick picked the cups up to dry them while staring out the window at the rain, though he was paying very little attention to either task instead he focused on not focusing on anything at all.

Nick was so spaced out, that the sudden ringing of the phone caught him off guard.

Nick was shocked from his daze, dropping the fragile cup as he jumped. It shattered across the wooden floor, or at least that’s what Nick assumed it did, he wasn’t watching the cup. Instead, he was staring at the shrill ringing of the phone.

The phone was hooked on a wall in between the kitchen and living room so when Nick moved to answer in, he felt the piercing gaze of Gatsby following him.

Nick almost didn’t want to answer it, but that would be rude to Daisy - assuming it was her - and Nick was anything but rude.

“Hello?” Nick ignored Gatsby’s intense stare, turning his back to the man.

“Hello, Nick,” a cheery but familiar voice called from the other side of the phone.

“Oh!” Nick wanted to laugh in relief and surprise at the same time, all though he didn’t realize that he was dreading talking to Daisy that much until he heard it wasn’t her, “Father! How are you?” Nick didn’t turn to see how Gatsby reacted to it not being Daisy. 

“Good, good, Nick. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“What about Mother?”

“She still as well as she was when you called last week,” Nick’s father chuckled.

Nick flushed a little, “I apologize for asking after your well being, I won’t do it in the future,” Nick pouted.

His father laughed again, “Oh Nick, you know I’m just messing with you.” His light tone suddenly took a much sterner tone, “Your mother and I have been more concerned about you lately.”

Nick frowned, straightening from where he was leaning against the wall, “I’m completely fine, Father.”

“Your mother said you sounded more stressed when she spoke with you. I know you said you like New York, but are you sure you still want to be there? Why not come home where you’re closer to your family?”

Nick sighed and pinched his brow. How many times would they have to go over this, “Father, we agreed a year. I’m perfectly fine in New York for now.”

“I know, Nick, but there’s no shame in coming home if you don’t like it.”

“Look, just…” Nick sighed again and decided to give in, just for now, “I’ll think about it, Father. Look, I have to go. Daisy is coming over.”

“Of course, Nick. Give her our love.”

“I will,” Nick replied before hanging the phone back on the receiver. Nick wandered back into the living room, where Gatsby looked up at him expectantly like he hadn’t overhead the entire conversation.

“It wasn’t Daisy,” Nick told him what he alright knew.

Gatsby didn’t look too disappointed, though Nick supposed that he’d had enough time to compose himself, “Ah, well. It’s not four yet,” Gatsby said, nodding to the clock.

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon.” Nick leaned against the living room wall for a moment before remembering the smashed cup and rushed to clean it.

After dusting the last pieces of porcelain from the rag he’d used to clean up, Nick was about to rejoin Gatsby in the living room, already thinking up countless ways to calm the man and prevent him from pacing a trench in his living room. But as Nick past the phone, it rang again.

Nick had to breathe deeply to contain the flicker of rage that burned in his chest. Despite his frustration, Nick answered politely, “Hello?”

“Nickie, dear!” The enchanting voice of Daisy Buchanan rang through the phone like sweet music.

“Daisy! When will you be here?” Nick asked, eyes darting to Gatsby who was sitting on the edge of his seat.

“That’s why I was calling, dearest one, my driver says the weather is too bad to drive,” Daisy spoke, voice full of despair, like not meeting Nick for tea was the greatest tragedy since the Great War. “Oh, I’m so sorry Nickie. Shall we reschedule for tomorrow?”

Nick wasn’t sure was Gatsby wanted, but he decided putting it off was for the best, also Nick had work tomorrow, “I’m afraid I have to work tomorrow. How about next week? Wednesday?”

“That’s perfect!” Daisy claimed, “I’ll be counting the moments!”

Nick chuckled and hung up after saying goodbye. He walked back into the living room, where Gatsby had evidently heard everything, still, he thought it best to clarify, “Daisy’s not coming.”

“I know, old sport,” Gatsby replied without his usual cheerful lilt.

“We rescheduled for next week, you can meet her then,” Nick said quickly, taking a step closer to the other man. Gatsby flinched back, barely noticeable but it still made Nick stop in his tracks. 

“No. I don’t think I will.”

Nick furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

“This whole afternoon. It all seems like a sign, doesn’t it, old sport?” Gatsby asked. He seemed to be in a sort of daze and Nick had no idea what to do about it.

“It’s just the weather, Jay, it doesn’t mean anything,” Nick shuffled forward, arm out a little like he was approaching a frightened animal. 

Gatsby shook his head, “It’s not just that, it’s everything. It’s y-” Gatsby trailed off. “I just feel everything has changed, do you understand, Nick?”

“I guess?” Nick shrugged.

Gatsby sighed deeply, “I think I’d better go home now, old sport.”

“Of course.” Nick moved out of his way. Gatsby shuffled past him, still dazed and deep in thought. “Wait!” Nick called out just as the other man opened the door, “I- I… I’ll see you tomorrow?” Nick asked tentatively. Gatsby was acting very strangely and Nick had an overwhelming urge to protect him.

Gatsby pause then hummed, “Maybe, old sport, maybe…” With that he left, shutting the door softly behind him, leaving Nick behind in the aftermath of the afternoon.

“Maybe…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME UNI IS THE MOST STRESSFUL THING IN THE WORLD.
> 
> Sorry I haven't been replying to comments quickly. I post on a different account then I read in, so on my phone I'm logged into a different account then I am writing this so I have to wait until I'm on my laptop.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for being great and making writing fun!


	7. Step 7: Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this chapter was updated on September 9th 2019 and is now extremely different than it was before.

Unsurprisingly, Nick Carraway was not a popular man. In college, he had a great deal of acquaintances, as everyone does, but few close friends and the friends that he did manage to make were sometimes scared off due to his quiet and perceptive nature.

So, Nick Carraway knew when he was being ignored. If you call a friend and he's busy, once is fine, he most likely is, twice is odd but nothing to be worried about, but three times. Three times is when it starts to become concerning.

Yes, the third time Nick placed the recover back on the hook after calling Mr. Gatsby only to be informed that he was indisposed, for the third time in a week and a half, Nick knew he was being ignored.

He sighed and padding around the living room rug, picking up and book and settled into a boring day of reading economics. 

The longer he read the harder it was to focus. Nick just didn't understand why Gatsby went from being a friend, to bring just a neighbour. Worse than just a neighbour. Nick was nothing to him now. He shoved him to the curb all because Daisy didn't show up to tea.

Nick slammed the book shut and dropped it heavily onto the coffee table.

The longer Gatsby ignored him the more convinced Nick was that the other man thought he was to blame for Daisy's absence. Maybe he thought Nick called her and cancelled.

Maybe he knew about Nick's feelings for him and thought he sabotaged the meeting.

Nick's heart clenched painfully. He truly hoped Gatsby didn't think that of him. They hadn't known each other long, two or three months, but Nick liked to think they knew one another well.

Of course, Nick knew barely any of Gatsby's history, but the man was kind and generous and Nick didn't judge others by their past anyway… but just because Nick knew him, didn't mean the other man felt the same.

Wasn't it just the other day Gatsby had lied to him straight to his face for an entire afternoon? Even after he called Nick perceptive.

Was Gatsby just saying what he thought Nick wanted to hear?

…Had Gatsby been lying to him since the beginning?

The blood rushed to Nick's head, making it feel like he's suddenly been plunged underwater. The only sound he could hear was the blood pumping through his body.

Nick was a fool.

Why would a man such as Gatsby take any interest in him at all? Nick was a nobody. He had no money, no influence. A man like Gatsby shouldn't even know he exists.

Yet somehow he did.

It all made sense. Gatsby never invited anyone to his parties, even his own staff didn't know him. Yet, Nick, the reclusive man next door, received a handwritten, hand-delivered invitation.

And when he shows, Gatsby does everything in his power to appeal himself to Nick. Did he know Nick' s inclinations from the start? Was he using them to manipulate Nick into helping him, making Nick feel indebted to him?

Nick' s head was spinning so badly he had to lie down and close his eyes just to stop from passing out.

The boat, dinner, lunch. It was all fake. Just a game to make Nick fall for his handsome neighbour, a neighbour who somehow knew Nick would be to kind, to scared to ever act on his feelings.

Did he disgust Gatsby? Was the other man only pretending to accept him, even be like him, just so Nick would sympathize more with him?

He gave Nick all these things just so that when he asked Nick for simple favour in return, tea with his beloved cousin, Nick would be more than happy to do it.

Nick was a fool. An idiot. Who got caught up in the romance and excitement of New York. It blinded him to the nature of man. Made him think that he was actually worth something instead of being the abomination that he was. A fierce resentment pooled in his chest.

New York.

What was it about New York that turned people into monsters? Monsters that have convinced themselves that they are gods, that being a person means being lesser. 

Why did Nick come here? This was not a place for him. The one glimmer of hope was tarnished with the filth New York spewed from its chimneys of ash.

Nick once thought that in New York anything could happen. Even Gasby. He wasn't wrong.

Even Gatsby could be just like the rest of them.

Nick sat up in his chair and tried to make a rational decision. He glanced over to the phone, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to decide what to do. He should just go home. He didn’t like it at home but being here just made him feel like he was drowning. There wasn’t a single honest person in this whole city and Nick didn’t know how long he could hold his conviction close when New York was clawing at him, trying to rip them away.

In a burst of movement, Nick forced himself and to the phone. He dialled his Father’s number. He almost slammed the receiver down, but his Father picked up too quickly.

“Nick, is everything alright? You haven’t called in weeks.”

Nick didn’t know how much he missed someone caring about him until he heard his father’s voice dripping with concern.

“I’m fine. I just…” Nick trailed off, finding it hard to get the words out.

“What is it, Nick?”

Nick sighed, “I want to come home.”

____________________________________________________________________________

By next week, Nick’s father was standing on his front porch helping him pack boxes of essentials into his car. When they were done, Nick wandered around the house making sure he didn’t miss anything.

He hadn’t packed everything, making it clear to his father that this move home wasn’t permanent and sense he still had paid the full year’s rent on the house, it made no sense for him not to use it still. His father had tentatively agreed, not wanting to push Nick too far, especially since he still seemed a little off.

Nick had offered his father no explanation for the sudden move. Just that he needed a break for a month. Unfortunately, he’d had to quit his job but Nick wasn’t too upset. So many stockbrokers were hiring nowadays that when he came back it would be easy to get another job. If he wanted it.

After finding nothing, Nick headed back to his father.

“Find anything?” The older man asked. Nick shook his head. “We should head out soon, before noon.”

Nick nodded numbly but cast a glance over to the mansion next door. 

Gatsby was still avoiding him.

Nick long since gave up trying to get into contact with him, but still, he felt a longing to see him once more, just to finally know if it was all a lie. The thought had been bothering Nick the entire week but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it… but he was leaving at any moment.

“I have to do something first,” Nick told his father, barely casting him a second glance before walking briskly past him toward Gatsby’s mansion.

In Nick’s mind, the goal was clear. Confront Gatsby, get him to confess that everything was a lie. Nick was just angry and confused and upset. He didn’t care about manners or being polite. As he stormed across Gatsby’s lawn, all he cared about was the one thing that Gatsby has not offered him. Answers.

Nick pressed the doorbell next to Gatsby lavishly carved wood door. The chime that rang out was an obnoxious song that Nick would bet any amount that Gatsby had made specifically for his doorbell. Nick scoffed. How did he not see Gatsby was just like everyone else before?

The door opened and a familiar Butler opened the door, the same one that gave Nick the invitation that first day, “How can I help you, sir?” The man glanced him up and down, appraising him.

Nick straightened, “I would like to speak to Mr. Gatsby.”

“Of course, sir. And who should I say is calling?”

Nick was only a little offended that the man didn’t remember him from all of his visits, but then Nick remembered the sheer amount of people that filtered in and out of the mansion. “It’s Ni-... Mr. Carraway.”

The butler opened the door wider, “Would you like to come in, sir, while I tell Mr. Gatsby that you are here?”

Nick almost said yes, but feared that if he got comfortable he would lose his resolve, “No thank you. I’ll wait here.”

The man nodded and closed the door. Nick leaned against the side of the house, hoping the butler would be quick for the sake of his Father’s patience and Nick’s feet. 

The door opened again. Nick was sure it would be the butler telling him Gatsby was unavailable. But it wasn’t

Gatsby stood in the open doorway. There was a smile on his face, not as big or bright as usual, but it was there nonetheless, “Hello, old sport,” Gatsby greeted like he hadn’t just spent three weeks ignoring the other man.

Though it was just three words, and three words Nick had heard many times before, he felt the fading anger flare up again, “Don’t ‘old sport’ me, Gatsby. I want to know why you’ve been ignoring me for weeks.”

Gatsby flinch back, “I-I wasn’t ignoring you-”

“That’s bull and you know it! I haven’t seen or heard from you ever since Daisy!” Nick pointed an accusing finger at the other man.

“I-”

Nick didn’t let him say anything else, “Was that I was to you? A way to get Daisy? Then when I didn’t deliver - through no fault of my own, I’ll remind you - you throw me to the wind?” Nick spat, “Wasn’t useful to you anymore, was I?”

Gatsby looked like Nick had physically slapped him, “What..? No! I never…”

“Sure, Jay. Why’d you send that invitation? Why’d you invited me to lunch? Because it sure as hell wasn’t to be my friend. Do you want to know how I know?” Nick paused his rant and glared at Gatsby.

“...Why?” Gatsby stammered like he thought Nick would either yell or punch him if he said anything else.

“Because the second time we went to lunch you fed me bullshit the entire car ride like you thought I was an idiot. Then you didn’t even ask me what you wanted to, instead, you had Miss Baker ask me in your place. Do you know how much I hated that, Jay?”

“Now, wait a minute, old sport, I only asked Miss Baker to tell you because…” 

“Because what?” 

“Because I thought that if I asked you I wouldn’t go through with it.”

Nick scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Am I really that threatening to you, Gatsby? Did you think I would deny you outright? When have I done anything that would make you think that?” Nick crossed his arms and glanced back to his house. His father had been waiting a long time, “Look, Gatsby, I have to go.”

Gatsby looked like he wanted to reach out and stop him but thought better of it, “Why? Stay, Nick,”

“I can’t. I’m going back West.”

This time Gatsby didn’t stop himself. He stepped closer to Nick, grabbing his arm to physically stop him leaving. Nick let him.

“You can’t leave,” Gatsby looked at him with desperate and genuine eyes, but still Nick couldn’t believe him, though most of the anger he’d felt had melted away during their conversation.

Nick sighed in resignation, “Why should I stay here? New York’s not for me…” Nick hesitated before continuing, “You were the only thing worth staying and now I don’t even have you.”

“What do you mean? You still have me, Nick.”

Nick furrowed his brow and ripped his arm out from Gatsby’s grasp, “I still have you?” Nick repeated incredulously, “I still have you even though you won’t answer my calls or talk to me? I don’t have you, Jay, because for some reason you think I kept the love of your life away from you.”

Gatsby looked away, pained. They stood in silence, Nick trying to calm himself but finding it hard when it felt like his nerves were on fire. Gatsby tried to think of the right words to say, but for once he didn’t know what to say.

“Nick,” Gatsby said, his voice shaking a little.

Nick lifted his head slowly, “What?” his voice was tired and worn.

“I wasn’t avoiding you because I’m in love with Daisy.” 

Nick shook his head. So now Gatsby just admitted to him that he’d been avoiding him just because. “I have to go.”

He turned to leave, but Gatsby caught his hand and pulled him back, “Nick, wait.”

Nick realized how close he and Gatbey were, almost chest to chest. Nick had to look up just to look the other man in the eye, even though they were roughly the same height. Gatsby didn’t look apathetic or dismissive like he didn’t care about Nick, nor was he acting like that.

His grip on Nick’s hand was light and gentle, but still fierce. His eyes were clouded with emotion, Nick could barely tell what he was thinking, just that the other man didn’t look angry… he looked scared.

“Nick, I swear I wasn’t avoiding you because I’m in love with Daisy,” Gatsby whispered. Nick felt the whole world melt around him and suddenly he didn’t care that he was making his Father waiting or that he was supposed to be mad at Gatsby, all he could see was himself and Gatsby, all he could feel was the other man’s hand in his.

“Then why?” Nick asked, his voice barely above a whisper. If he spoke too loud he feared he would wake from a dream alone in his bed.

Gatsby tightened his grip on Nick’s hands, unable to tear his gaze away from the younger man’s.

“Because I’m in love with you, Nick.”

Nick's heart leapt in his chest. His head was still reeling, trying to dissect Gatsby’s words and make them anything other than what they were, but his heart was ten steps ahead.   
Before he knew what he was doing, Nick leaned forward, pressing his lips to the other man’s. Gatsby responded after a moment of hesitation, taking one of his hands from Nicks and threading it through Nick’s hair.

Nick didn’t even notice he was crying, until Gatsby pulled back a little - just enough so their foreheads rested against each other. Nick laughed, but Gatsby cupped his cheeks in concern.

“Nick, what’s wrong?” He wiped a stray tear from the other man's cheek. Nick didn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy.

Nick leaned in and peaked his lips again, “Nothing I’ve done in my entire life, not anything I will ever do again, will ever be as right as this is.”

Gatsby laughed and pulled Nick close. He smiled into Nick’s neck. Later Nick would wonder if Gatsby was just heartbroken over Daisy and was confused about what he wanted or if he’d finally let himself forget Daisy and fall for Nick, but in that moment Nick didn’t care and he wouldn’t care as long as he could hold Gatsby just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little change to the schedule. Saturday updates will stay the same, but instead of updating Tuesday I will update either Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. I hope this doesn't upset any of you.
> 
> Howdy y'all. I don't know if this will send an update, but I still felt like it had to be improved from before. I got my computer fixed and Unit is going better now :)
> 
> Thanks again for your support. I WILL be updating tomorrow as well. Thanks again!!!!!!


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